


Open Hearts

by angelsaves



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-03
Updated: 2012-02-03
Packaged: 2017-10-30 12:55:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/331948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelsaves/pseuds/angelsaves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Claude might have misunderstood Danny. Now he's going to try to fix it. (for pass_shoot_porn; the prompt was "promised me a good time in your town", and i ran with the lyrics to "introduce this to your parents")</p>
            </blockquote>





	Open Hearts

"I... no," Danny says, after a long pause. "I'm sorry. It's too long a drive to make twice in one night. I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?" And he hangs up with a click.

Claude looks at the phone in his hand. "But I was going to ask you to stay over," he tells it sadly. Oh, great. Schenner's only been off on this rookie bonding fishing trip for a couple of hours, and Claude is already talking to inanimate objects. 

Ice cream is probably the cure for that, he decides. He gets a little single-serving cup of chocolate out of the freezer -- probably one of the greatest inventions ever -- and sits on the counter to eat it. There's nobody around to set an example for.

Everything's just been so weird since this summer. It hasn't been _bad_ , exactly -- a lot of good things have happened -- just weird. Like that noise. Is the freezer... ringing?

Claude fishes his lightly-chilled phone out of the empty ice tray; it's his sister calling. "Isabelle," he says, "I put my phone in the freezer."

"Probably because you're an idiot," she says. "Uh, you didn't get hit in the head again, did you?"

"No, don't worry, you can call me stupid without feeling guilty," he says. "How's it going?"

"Not bad," she says. "I called to ask where you got your mattress, actually. Eric and I are going shopping tomorrow, and I liked yours when I crashed there before."

"Raymour & Flanigan," Claude says. Then he stuffs a giant spoonful of ice cream in his mouth so he won't say anything stupid and sappy about missing Danny.

"That's right, you and Danny got interviewed about going shopping there," Isabelle says. Claude grunts ice-creamily. "Oh. You miss him, don't you." 

"Shut up, Isalaide," Claude mutters.

She laughs. "You haven't called me that since we were kids! Why did you guys break up, anyway?"

"We didn't _break up_ ," Claude says. "We were never _dating_." If he keeps shoving ice cream down his gullet like this, he'll get a brain freeze. Maybe then his sister will be nice to him.

"Right," Isabelle says. "You were basically married, but you were never _dating_. You mean you didn't tap that DILF-y ass even once?"

Claude chokes and almost falls off the counter. "Never call Danny a DILF again," he commands her.

"...Wait. You really _didn't_ hit that?"

"Oh, go fart in the grass."

"Baby brother," Isabelle says gently. "I didn't realize. I thought you just had a regular breakup. What happened?"

"This is pathetic," Claude informs her. "I've become pathetic." He lets his head fall back against the cabinets with a _clonk_. "Ow."

"You were always pathetic," she retorts. "Don't change the subject."

"He said it wouldn't be a joke anymore," Claude says. "If I lived there another year. One year was funny, but two years wouldn't be. So I said I'd move out. And I did, and now everything is weird."

Isabelle doesn't say anything for a little while; if he couldn't hear her breathing, he'd wonder if she'd hung up on him too. "Did you want it to be a joke?" she asks finally.

"No," Claude says. "I wanted... I _want_... him. For real."

"Maybe he didn't want it to be a joke either."

Now it's Claude's turn to sit in silence. Good thing he has an unlimited plan, or he'd be paying for an awful lot of dead air tonight. "Then I fucked it all up," he says.

"Yeah, maybe you did," Isabelle says. "So fix it."

"He doesn't want to come over."

"And you forgot the way to his house?" She clucks her tongue at him. "What's the worst he can do, tell you you had it right the first time?"

"Are you going to harass me until I do what you say?" 

"Probably. What are big sisters for?" 

"Fine, I'll go," Claude says, hopping off the counter and going to find his jacket. "Love you, Isalaide."

***

The drive over to Danny's is almost so short he doesn't have time to worry, but not quite. By the time he's pulling into the driveway, Claude has almost convinced himself to turn right around and go home.

He steels himself. This is easy. It's just talking. If it goes badly, he can always go to the rink and skate with Jagr until he's exhausted, or go home and drink himself into a blackout. Or both!

Danny opens the door and stares at him. "Claude?"

"Hi," Claude says. "Can I -- I need to talk to you."

"You'd better come in and take off your wet things," Danny says.

"Oh, right. Okay." Claude hadn't even noticed it was raining. He hopes he remembered to turn on his lights and wipers in the car. He lets Danny hang up his wet jacket on the same hook as always, while he takes off his sneakers and sets them on the mat to dry.

"What did you want to talk about?" Danny asks, once Claude is standing there in his socks. He has a strange look on his face, sort of... Claude's not sure how to describe it. Like a deer, maybe, that isn't sure if it's safe to come out from behind a tree, but it kind of wants to. "Claude?"

"I don't want it to be a joke," Claude says. "I've been trying to act like I wanted it to be a joke, but I wanted it to be real."

Danny sits down, hard, on the arm of the couch, like Claude just told him he was secretly a leprechaun. (Claude is considering suing whoever's in charge of Disney TV movies for invading his brain whenever he's nervous, since Danny's kids are too young to blame.) "What are you saying?"

"Us," Claude says. "Being practically married. Sending out joint Christmas cards. I miss that. I miss _you._ " Christ, it's like a dam bursting. What if he drowns Danny with words? "I just -- I want to be like that again."

"You want -- but why?" Danny rakes his fingers back through his hair. "You're so young, Claude. You could do so much better."

"No," Claude says. "I couldn't do better. There _isn't_ better." He can't tear his eyes away from Danny, his pointy face, his bony knees poking out of his gym shorts, his mouth turned down at the corner. "Do you want one of those necklaces from TV, maybe, that look like two butts? I'll buy you one. I'll buy you five."

"...Butts?" Danny asks. Now he looks like he's about to laugh, and it makes Claude want him even more.

"Yeah, you know --" Claude traces the shape in the air. "Open hearts? They look like butts. The ad was on all the time when I was out. The British lady says they're for endless love, or something."

"Endless love," Danny repeats, starting to smile. "And butts."

"It's appropriate, yeah?" Claude says. "Because I want to love you forever, and also do butt stuff with you."

Danny's cheeks are getting red. "Claude," he says. "You're -- you're really far away."

"Oh," Claude says. It's true; he's still halfway across the room from Danny. "I can fix that." He walks over and stands right in Danny's personal space, between his knees. "Hi."

"Hi." Danny's looking up at him with a look on his face like he gets around the playoffs, that burning look that makes Claude think he could stare at a wall and leave the image of the Stanley Cup on it like a brand. Only maybe now, it'd be a picture of Claude.

Claude puts one hand on Danny's shoulder and tips his pointy chin up with the other. "Can I kiss you?" he asks, bending down so they're almost sharing breath.

"Please," Danny says quietly, so Claude does.

It starts off gentle and kind of tentative, because, oh, Christ, this is their first kiss -- but then Danny's grabbing a handful of his hair and moaning, and then he's grabbing a handful of his ass and _Claude_ is moaning.

"Bed," Danny says, pulling Claude's hair to break the kiss, which, wow, he'll remember that one. "Bed, now, or I'm going to lose my balance, and we'll have some really embarrassing injuries to explain to Coach."

"Bed," Claude agrees. "Do you have -- do you want -- have you --" He's never been this hard in his life. Probably all of the blood that usually lets him say words has been channeled to his dick, and he should consider himself lucky that he can remember how to walk.

Danny, on the other hand, is not only walking, but also undressing. He pulls his T-shirt over his head, and Claude almost trips over his own feet staring at his back and thinking about all the places he'd like to touch and lick and bite. When they get to his room, Danny closes the door, even though they're alone in the room.

"I have lube and condoms," Danny says. "I, uh..." He scratches the back of his neck, looking away from Claude. "I've never used them."

Claude blinks. "Never?"

"Sylvie and I were _married,_ " Danny says. "And... since... I just haven't."

"So you never, with a guy, at all?"

"This is why you shouldn't want this," Danny says. His face looks pinched all of a sudden. "You could be with somebody who knows what they're doing, Claude."

Claude steps forward again and wraps Danny in a bear hug, even though he's only managed to get his left arm out of his shirt. "Shut up," he says into Danny's hair. "Endless butts, remember? I don't care about what you did before, dumbass. And I kind of like the idea of being your first."

"Really?" He has a tiny little smile on his face when Claude pulls back, and he's standing there in nothing but his undershorts, and the only thing Claude can think of to do is tackle him onto the big bed and show him just how much he likes that idea.

They make out and grind up on each other for ages -- like teenagers, Claude carefully _doesn't_ think -- until Danny looks all dazed and Claude's dick is starting to get chafed, and Danny mumbles into Claude's throat, "I want you to fuck me."

Claude has to pinch the inside of his arm to keep from coming right then. "Christ! Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure. I've been thinking about it for _months_."

"Have you, you know... practiced?" Claude asks.

"I told you I haven't --" Danny starts, but Claude cuts him off.

"No, I mean by yourself."

"Oh." Danny leans over to the nightstand and pushes it away from the wall. "A little. The angle's kind of..."

"Yeah," Claude agrees. "I know. What are you doing?"

Danny's halfway off the bed; he sits up with a Metamucil box in his hand. "When I'm too old for hockey, I'm going to be a spy," he says, tipping the box so a few strips of condoms and a mostly-full bottle of expensive lube spill out onto the bed. 

"Nice," Claude says. He's impressed. "Now take off your pants."

Danny does, then lies on his side, looking a little worried. "How do you want me?"

"Every way," Claude says, nudging him over onto his back and pushing his knees apart. "But like this, this time." He kisses the inside of Danny's thigh, then pours some lube out onto his fingers. 

The noises Danny makes as Claude fingers him open are so amazing that Claude has to bite the inside of his lip and pray more than once to keep from losing it. "Come on, come on," Danny says, "I've seen your dick, you don't have to stretch me _that_ much."

"Oh yeah? Which one of us knows what he's doing, old man?" But Claude slides his fingers out anyway. "Okay. Now get up on your knees." Claude lies down on his back so Danny can straddle him. "There you go," he says, trying to sound reassuring. "This way you can -- oh, Christ."

Danny's sinking down onto him, eyes shut, and Claude feels like he could burst. He feels amazing, tight and slick and going so slow it's just this side of painful, and it's Danny, Danny's _his_. "Oh, Claude, oh," Danny says, and when he starts moving, riding him, the sparks behind Claude's eyelids are shaped like sparkly butt necklaces.

**Author's Note:**

> this is the necklace Claude is thinking of: http://www.friendsofjane.com/mer_openheart.html  
> i made up the nickname "Isalaide" -- "belle" means "beautiful" in French, and "laide" means "ugly", which is the kind of wordplay my brother and i still like to annoy each other with.


End file.
